


Let Me Count the Ways

by MiraMira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, First Time, Freckles, Implied Sexual Content, Not Epilogue Compliant, Romance, School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/pseuds/MiraMira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione doesn't understand how she's never noticed just how fascinating Ginny's freckles are before.  And now that she has, she doesn't know how to stop - or if that's what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Count the Ways

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wisdomeagle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisdomeagle/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this tiny morsel, wisdomeagle!
> 
> Note: contains references to past canon relationships.

Ginny has a knot of freckles that resembles a chrysanthemum, right at the nape of her neck. It shouldn't be possible for a random conglomeration of dots to form such a perfect shape, yet there it is, as clear as though it's been charmed into place.

How has Hermione never noticed before? True, they've been spending most of their time together since Harry and Ron decided not to join them for a seventh year at Hogwarts, and Ginny's been wearing her hair up now that the Quidditch pitch is in usable condition again. But she can't understand how she could have glanced at it so many times without _seeing_ it, when it has so suddenly and inexplicably become the center of her world.

Then again, she seems to have overlooked a great many fascinations pertaining to Ginny's freckles. She doesn't remember being this captivated by Ron's during their short, ill-fated summer fling. Does Ginny simply have more to investigate, or is there some intrinsic quality that makes them so mesmerizing? A part of her is tempted to owl Harry and ask, except that he and Ginny are still recovering from the less dramatic but no less final dissolution of their romance. Besides, she isn't sure she wants to share her observations with anyone.

It isn't until she catches herself having to look away from stolen glimpses of speckled shoulders or flecked knees that she begins to question whether these freckles are special _because_ they belong to Ginny. Initially, she brushes the idea aside. Harry and Ron notwithstanding, she isn't about to risk her closest female friendship - one of her few real friendships, period – on idle curiosity just how far the more interesting patterns extend.

Still, that doesn't stop her from formulating theories. Precise, vividly detailed theories that only blossom into more elaborate speculation the harder she tries to ignore them. 

Eventually, she gives up trying.

~

“...Then Demezla tells him, 'Some of us had better things to do last year than worry about practice,' and can you guess what that utter hippogriff's arsehole says?”

“Mmm,” is all the contribution Hermione has to offer to the discussion. Ginny is riled up and gesticulating wildly, her neck swinging in and out of view in time with her ponytail, and her arms creating shifting arrangements of brown and white.

It takes her a minute to realize Ginny has stopped talking, and is regarding her with a displeased expression. She is therefore completely unprepared when Ginny spells the dormitory door shut and drags Hermione on to her bed before pulling the curtains shut around them. “All right. What's going on here?”

“Going on?” Hermione echoes, hoping against hope she sounds confused rather than panicked.

Ginny sighs. “Hermione. You've been staring at me for the past three weeks. Maybe longer.” Her voice takes on a bit of an edge: too shaky to be annoyance, although Hermione can't fathom how it could be anything else. “If I've been doing something to warrant extra scrutiny, I'd _really_ like to know.”

Oh. That's how. Oh, _damn_. Not only does she apparently owe Ron an apology for every time she chided him over his blatant leering, she's gone and traumatized Ginny by raising the specter of Tom Riddle. Gryffindor honor demands she put this right.

“Your freckles,” she blurts, before she can lose her nerve. “Have you ever tried counting them?”

“ _That's_ what this is about?” Ginny's bewildered blinking dissolves into laughter. “Once or twice, when I was younger. But I got impatient, and stopped keeping track of which spots I'd already counted, and after that I gave up on the project. Besides, I'd need someone to help with the parts I can't...”

She trails off mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as she studies Hermione with what appears to be dawning comprehension. 

Hermione wills the floor to swallow her up before she can spontaneously combust from embarrassment. “I-it was just a thought. A stupid, stupid thought. Forget I said anything. Please.”

“Oh, no,” murmurs Ginny, in a tone that would have Ron packing her off to the nearest cloister if he ever overheard it. “No, no, no. You've got me curious, too.” With deft fingers, she sets her tie on the bedside table beside her wand and loosens a button as she leans forward, revealing a flash of tantalizingly dappled skin. “And surely Hermione Granger of all people isn't about to leave such a pressing need for answers _unsated_.”

“Right now?” asks Hermione. Or hopes she's asked, anyway; what comes out reaches her ears as more of a strangled squeak.

“No time like the present,” Ginny shrugs, robes sliding to the floor.

Hermione has counter-arguments. She knows she does. But she cannot bring them to mind, let alone articulate them, because Ginny is unclasping her bra and...oh. That spatter across her cleavage _does_ keep going all the way down.

“O-one,” she stammers. “Two. Thr--”

Ginny cuts her off with a deep, fierce kiss. “Try it by touch,” she growls when they come up for air.

It's the most brilliant suggestion Hermione's ever heard. And she knows just where to start, she thinks as she runs her lips along Ginny's jawline toward her neck.

~

“So,” purrs Ginny, propping herself up on one arm and brushing a damp curl back from Hermione's face, “what's the grand total?”

“I might've lost count,” Hermione admits. At the moment, she's proud of herself for having remembered enough words to manage a complete sentence.

Ginny can barely maintain even a mock pout for a second before grinning as she winds the curl around her finger. “Too bad. We'll have to try again.”

“And again, and again, and again?”

With each _“again,”_ Ginny's grin widens. “As long as it takes,” she declares.

“Good.” Hermione traces her new favorite cluster, a sunburst on Ginny's inner left thigh, then slowly eases her strokes upward. “That should only be the rest of my life.”


End file.
